


Softly, sweetly

by ladylapislazuli



Category: 30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい | Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?! (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Intimacy, Kissing, M/M, Touching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-20 17:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30008049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: I love him, he hears Kurosawa think, low and warm. Just like that, Adachi relaxes. Winds his own arms around Kurosawa, pressing his head into Kurosawa’s shoulder, breathing in the smell and heat and feel of him.A pause. A beat.Would he mind if…And then there is a tickle as Kurosawa adjusts, as he tilts his head, as he brushes the barest kiss to Adachi’s temple.- - -Or, five ways that Kurosawa kisses Adachi.
Relationships: Adachi Kiyoshi/Kurosawa Yuichi
Comments: 38
Kudos: 131





	1. Forehead

After Kurosawa presses his lips to Adachi’s forehead, presses _I’m sorry_ to Adachi’s skin, Adachi thinks about it often.

It was so soft, is the thing. So gentle. It made something ache inside of him that took him a long time to name. Forced him out of his chair and after Kurosawa for reasons he couldn’t explain, given how nervous he’d been and how much, in that moment, he hadn’t wanted Kurosawa to kiss him at all.

Kurosawa surprised him. Kurosawa often surprises him, but the kiss… it lingers. Softly, sweetly resting at the back of his mind without alarm or fanfare, sweeping over him like a warm breeze on a summer’s night. 

Adachi was nervous, and forced, and backed into a corner. But Kurosawa’s kiss wasn’t what he expected. It was chaste, and kind, and gentle. It… wasn’t frightening. Adachi is frightened of many things, but that kiss wasn’t frightening at all.

So Adachi thinks of it often. Thinks, for a while, that he thinks of it _because_ it wasn’t frightening, which is both surprise and lesson in and of itself: he doesn’t hate to be touched, and he doesn’t hate to be kissed, even though the mere thought of romance makes him so nervous that he somehow convinced himself that he would. 

Kurosawa’s lips were soft and dry against his skin, his fingertips brushing the skin of Adachi’s forehead. _I’m sorry_. Gentle, so gentle. And it’s surprising until it isn’t, because what _was_ Adachi expecting? For Kurosawa – handsome, popular, perfect Kurosawa – to have lips of sandpaper and hands that scalded him as he pushed Adachi’s hair back?

It didn’t feel like that at all. Didn’t hurt or shock or repel him. An apology pressed to his skin, sadness, regret. 

(Love, too. Love.) 

Even before he understands how he feels for Kurosawa, Adachi thinks about that kiss often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How unhinged can I get about Cherry Magic challenge


	2. Temple

“Let’s take it slow and easy,” Kurosawa says, and they do.

Holding hands is a strange new experience. Adachi isn’t used to it, and his palms get sweaty when he gets nervous, but Kurosawa doesn’t pull away. His hands are big and warm and veiny, and his grip is strong. Not painful, for even his hands are as elegant and restrained as the rest of him, but just inherently… masculine.

The one time a girl held Adachi’s hand, she was pulling him along, running ahead, her hand small in his and he felt clumsy and useless and foolish, too big for his own skin. She dragged him then let him go, never sparing him another thought, though Adachi remembered the feel of her tiny hand in his for far longer than she remembered his name.

Kurosawa’s hand is nothing like hers. Bigger than Adachi’s, enveloping him, not dragging him anywhere at all. Masculine, a new frame of reference, a new shape against Adachi’s skin.

It’s not a bad thing. It’s… well, it’s nice. Really nice. 

They hold hands. They swing in tandem and in time. Hold hands when they’re walking, at first, but then when they’re seated too. Watching a movie together, Kurosawa approaching him as carefully as ever, hands inching towards Adachi, fingers whispering across Adachi’s skin. Kurosawa smiles when Adachi doesn’t pull away, and when Adachi lets him drape his hand over Adachi’s. He rubs his thumb across Adachi’s knuckles, and Adachi twists their fingers together of his own volition.

Slow and easy. Moment by moment. Bit by bit.

Kurosawa’s hand on his elbow, between his shoulder blades, at his waist. Brief, guiding touches, for Kurosawa doesn’t dare linger and Adachi doesn’t know how to let him, not yet. His hugs are still a surprise, usually happening in a moment of great emotional excitement, Kurosawa flinging his arms around Adachi’s neck and holding him like that because he can’t stand _not_ holding him.

But they aren’t always that way. Not always quick, not always helplessly caught on a wave of emotion. Adachi learns.

One evening, they’re saying goodbye. Kurosawa has an early morning, off on another business trip, and Adachi sees him to the door. They look at each other, lingering. 

If they were another couple, at another stage, they would be kissing right now. The knowledge sends a jolt of nerves all up and down Adachi’s spine. Makes his eyes dart away and fix on the ground, his shoulders clamp in, his breath stutter in his chest.

“Well,” Kurosawa says. “See you.”

“Mm.”

But Kurosawa doesn’t go. And Adachi, when he dares to look up into Kurosawa’s face, his searching eyes, his handsome features… Adachi doesn’t want him to.

He makes an aborted movement forward. Panics the moment after, freezing in place, because moving was instinctual, but he has no idea what to do after. Paralysed with the weight of it, with the uncertainty, with the wanting-not-wanting.

It’s enough for Kurosawa. He steps in. Telegraphing his movements, giving Adachi time to move away. His arms open, but he doesn’t move like he means to kiss Adachi.

Adachi could move away. He doesn’t.

Kurosawa’s arm slides, not around Adachi’s shoulders, but around his waist. He tucks Adachi up against him, pressing his hand to the back of Adachi’s head in a familiar hold, but even then this hug feels different. Adachi is pressed closely against him, Kurosawa’s arm wound lower, bringing him closer still.

Not a hug, not like the ones Adachi is getting used to. This is an embrace. Kurosawa is holding him, _all_ of him, as close as he can be held.

Adachi isn’t good with new things. But he breathes through it. Feels his heart thundering in his chest, the warmth of Kurosawa’s body so close to his. Feels, somehow, _right_.

 _I love him_ , he hears Kurosawa think, low and warm. Just like that, Adachi relaxes. Winds his own arms around Kurosawa, pressing his head into Kurosawa’s shoulder, breathing in the smell and heat and feel of him.

A pause. A beat. _Would he mind if…_

And then there is a tickle as Kurosawa adjusts, as he tilts his head, as he brushes the barest kiss to Adachi’s temple.

“Goodnight,” he breathes against Adachi’s skin.

Kurosawa pulls away, probably so as not to push his luck. The right decision, because Adachi is frozen again, caught like a rabbit in the snare. Fixated on that new moment, that new experience, that new feeling. Kurosawa’s lips at his temple. Kurosawa’s arms cradling him close, and pressing a kiss to the side of his hair. _I love him_.

Adachi isn’t ready for more. His stomach is fluttering, his cheeks flushed, unsure what to do with the gesture of affection.

And yet without Kurosawa’s arms around him, he feels so cold all of a sudden.

He raises his eyes slowly. Kurosawa is searching Adachi’s face, and his expression softens at what he finds there. For once, Adachi doesn’t need to be touching Kurosawa to know what he’s thinking. He looks at Kurosawa’s face, and for a moment he forgets how to breathe.

“Ah,” he says, shaking himself, suddenly realising how long they’ve just been standing there. “Goodnight.”

Kurosawa smiles, and leaves it at that. But that night, Adachi goes to sleep with the memory of Kurosawa’s arms around him, and Kurosawa’s lips ghosting across his temple.

It’s not at all how he imagined a romance would be, not for himself. No one has ever treated Adachi like this, like he’s something to be treasured, like he’s something to be adored, like he's worth the patience and the waiting. Adachi never imagined anyone would.

He thinks of that kiss a lot, too.


	3. Cheek

Kurosawa likes to hold Adachi.

It's a realisation that takes Adachi a while to get used to. He himself isn't a particularly tactile person, so in some ways being held is even stranger than holding hands, or Kurosawa touching the small of his back, or either of Kurosawa's warm, fleeting kisses.

Kurosawa is spending time at Adachi’s apartment. Idly, passively. He reads, and ducks to the grocery store, and cooks them both dinner. It's another new experience for Adachi, sharing his space with someone else so intimately.

But Adachi isn’t nervous. Even though Kurosawa is his boyfriend and he’s never had one before and doesn’t entirely know what to do with the one he’s got. Adachi isn’t nervous, and for as long as Adachi can remember, he’s been nervous about practically everything.

Another new experience, another new feeling, another frame of reference to add to the list. Having a boyfriend can be heart-pounding and exhilarating, nerve-wracking and overwhelming, fun and spontaneous.

It can also be… just this. Quiet intimacy. Just this.

They eat together, as Kurosawa likes to do. But he’s more subdued than usual. Isn’t quite himself, his eyes distant, his conversation muted, and Adachi reaches to touch him without agonising about it. Finds that Kurosawa is tired, just that. Tired and a little sad, but only in that way people get when it really _is_ just tiredness. At another time, on another night, Adachi would be panicking about it, assuming the worst, assuming he had done something wrong. But instead Adachi studies Kurosawa’s face. At ease after a day spent in Kurosawa's comfortable company. Wondering belatedly if it’s strange to find Kurosawa’s mood such a point of curiosity, if he should be comforting him rather than studying him, or shooing him off to get a good night’s sleep, knowing he’ll bounce back to his usual self in the morning. 

It’s just that Kurosawa always seems so perfect, so indefatigable, and here is the proof that he isn’t. People can be a lot of things when they're tired – irritable, irrational, difficult – and Kurosawa seems to go melancholy. Adachi would never have guessed it. That blinding, brilliant, eternally good-natured Kurosawa has moments like this.

Kurosawa is tired, but he doesn't want to go home because he doesn't want to leave Adachi. It's too early for bed, but too late to go out again. He wants Adachi closer, but his thoughts are turning in on themselves, taking a punishing edge for no reason. Scolding himself for not being perfect, though even with his mind-reading ability Adachi has no idea what Kurosawa thinks he's done wrong.

Kurosawa is just tired, simple and human, and making himself unhappy because of it. And strange as it may seem, it makes something in Adachi’s chest goes soft and warm. Fond.

"Come and sit on the bed," he says once they’re done eating. He doesn’t have a sofa. Realises only belatedly how that might sound, and hastens to correct. "Not – not like – just – it's more comfortable there."

It says everything about Kurosawa's state of mind that he doesn't tease Adachi senseless for that.

They end up side by side, sitting with their backs to the wall and legs dangling. It cheers Kurosawa a little, especially when Adachi takes a breath and inches closer, letting their thighs rest against each other.

_I'm on Adachi's bed_ , Kurosawa thinks, but the thought goes no further, nowhere that would make Adachi skitter away despite himself, heart pounding and cheeks red.

"I had fun with you today," Adachi murmurs. Staring at his own knees, shoulders drawing up to his ears in embarrassment, but sentiment sincere.

"I'm glad," Kurosawa says. But underneath, _I need to do a lot better for our actual date. A_ lot _better_ . _I can’t just hang around his apartment, I need to_ do _something._

Kurosawa is tired. Tired and melancholy and fixated on Adachi's happiness over his own, which Adachi may never get used to. Adachi isn't good at this; he has no words to say to console him. What would he even say? _No, really, I had fun._ Or, _just hanging out with you is more fun than someone like me is used to._ Or even, _Kurosawa, I really like you._

His tongue won't unstick from the roof of his mouth. He _can't_ speak, even if he could find the words.

So he doesn't. He shifts closer instead. It's a whole different kind of terrifying, and his body is stiff and awkward, but he leans up against Kurosawa. Rests his head against Kurosawa's shoulder, like he's seen other couples do, even though it feels unnatural.

Kurosawa's thoughts go quiet, just like that. A pause as he stares down at Adachi in disbelief.

_He's…_ Kurosawa thinks, then the rational part of him gives way to pure feeling.

Joy. Kurosawa is an explosion of joy. Soft, wondrous, aching joy.

Slowly, his arm comes up. Wraps around Adachi's shoulder, tentative, then settles into place when Adachi doesn't object. It's better this way, and Kurosawa seems to know just how to move to make them both comfortable.

Kurosawa is staring at the top of Adachi's head. Staring and staring, and Adachi knows he is because he can hear Kurosawa trying to imprint this moment into his memory. The weight and warmth and feel of Adachi against him, how perfectly they fit together, how _right_ Adachi feels.

_I never thought that he'd let me hold him like this. That he’d_ want _me to..._

The thought is so laden with emotion that the only thing Adachi can do is swallow and keep his head low, consciously relaxing into Kurosawa’s side.

Adachi himself doesn’t understand why it means so much. People haven’t exactly been lining up for a chance to hold him. Adachi has never seen himself as holdable either, skinny, awkward, going rigid at even the barest touch. Before Kurosawa, the rare times Adachi could stand to even imagine what a romantic relationship might look like for him, he never imagined someone taking such pleasure in just holding him.

But Kurosawa does. Tilts his head to press his nose against Adachi's hair, inhaling him in a way that would be subtle to anyone not capable of reading his mind. He’s tired, but his melancholy slips into a different kind of feeling, a different kind of need, impossible to name but so visceral there’s a lump in Adachi’s throat.

It's so much. And he feels the moment Kurosawa moves on impulse. Kurosawa tilts his head. Caught in a wave, the perfect man rendered helpless in the face of having Adachi in his arms. He presses a kiss to Adachi's cheek.

One kiss. Just one. Fervent, adoring, rapidly wrestled back under control because Kurosawa is Kurosawa and he can't bear to let himself slip. Doesn't want to push Adachi, or chase him away, or reveal the depths of his own helplessness.

Adachi already knows. Adachi is just as overwhelmed by the force of his love as Kurosawa is. Kurosawa loves him so much he can’t _help_ it.

They sit like that for a long time. Talking a little, but eventually Kurosawa shuts his eyes and shifts his grip. Not sleeping, just holding Adachi as close as Adachi lets him. It makes him happy. Holding Adachi makes him so happy.

It’s strange. Kurosawa kissed Adachi, but it didn’t frighten him. Not then, and not now. No nerves. Strange, that there are no nerves.

And Adachi can't stop thinking about it, either Kurosawa's happiness or the way Kurosawa kissed him. The press of Kurosawa’s lips against his skin. The impulse that drew Kurosawa suddenly, inexorably closer.

It felt warm and soft and almost painful. A wave of love so strong Kurosawa was pulled along with the tide. Kissed Adachi because he needed to kiss him, but there was no force, nothing frightening about it at all.

It felt, somehow, like gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the lovely comments y'all wild


	4. Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter contains angst.

When the fireworks die down, the night is quiet.

Kurosawa is looking at Adachi. Has been on and off, even when the fireworks were bright and joyful overhead. Their hands are still clasped, Kurosawa’s thumb rubbing absently at Adachi’s skin.

There is nothing absent-minded about the way he stares. The cacophony of noise, one thought after another, all laid open and achingly bare.

_He accepted – he’s here – I can’t believe it – I love him – he came._ Over and over, around and around.

Kurosawa watches him, and keeps watching. Tracing the lines of Adachi’s face, his nose, his jaw, his lips, and it’s a strange moment of disorientation, seeing himself through Kurosawa’s eyes. Being _admired_ , when Adachi has gone unnoticed his whole life. Being found beautiful, when Adachi has only ever found mediocrity staring back in the mirror.

Adachi stares into the night sky, up at the moon and stars, but Kurosawa has eyes only for him.

It takes Adachi time to gather the courage to meet Kurosawa’s gaze. The night is cold, and he watches his breath mist in front of him. Looks at the buildings ahead, rooftops and alleyways. Looks down at his own feet, at the grey concrete, before he can finally bring himself to turn.

Kurosawa asked for forever, and Adachi said yes. But Adachi’s head is bowed, and his throat feels uncomfortably tight.

He’s done his running. Done hiding. Kurosawa has waited so patiently, and finally Adachi meets him. Meets Kurosawa’s gaze and Kurosawa quirks his lips, but there’s none of his usual radiance, no blinding light that keeps Adachi from seeing what Kurosawa doesn’t want him to see. Kurosawa just keeps looking at him. In the moonlight his features are starker, gaunter, sharper, darkness gathering in the striking hollows of his cheeks. He swallows. Raises their joined hands, and presses a kiss to Adachi’s skin.

It’s like the world stops. Just for a moment, just for a breath. Kurosawa’s eyes trace Adachi’s face, watchful, intense. His lips are twisted down, his brows furrowed, and there is something vulnerable about his face, something raw and bare. In the way he watches, in the way he waits, in the way he presses a kiss to Adachi’s hand, staring at him with something like pleading.

His pen – symbolic – is safe in Adachi’s pocket. A promise exchanged, madly, hastily.

But only quick on Adachi’s side. Because he hears the thoughts leaking through, even though Kurosawa knows he can and, perfect in this as he is in everything else, he masks them. 

When Adachi found Kurosawa standing on the rooftop, he didn’t hesitate, couldn’t wait, couldn’t interpret the look on Kurosawa’s face or imagine what Kurosawa had come here to do. Too consumed by his own feelings, by the _need_ propelling him onwards. He needed Kurosawa to understand, needed to explain. Needed to tell him he regretted it, and so he did.

Adachi spoke first, so Kurosawa didn’t have the chance to say his piece. But now, with Kurosawa's lips pressed to his hand, he wonders what Kurosawa would have said.

Adachi knows him better now, better than he even knew. Saw the way Kurosawa walked towards him, slow and almost stumbling, like he couldn’t believe Adachi was really there. Saw the dart of his eyes, the set of his mouth, his kindness and his smile and his attempt at normality giving way to something else entirely. Something darker and deeper and infinitely more fragile.

_Adachi, I_... he had said, stepping forward. So weak he stumbled. So brittle he looked like he might shatter.

_Adachi, I_...

Kurosawa came here with a proposal in his pocket. Came to ask _forever_ from a man who’d already refused him. Came, in fact, to plead.

An open heart, a damning weakness. Because now Adachi looks into Kurosawa’s face, stripped of all pretence, and understands with devastating clarity.

Kurosawa would have begged him. Begs him now with that kiss to Adachi’s hand, devotion pressed into his skin, unmistakable in both its sincerity and its submission.

_Please love me_. _Please, please love me._

He breaks Adachi’s heart.

Adachi is just as helpless. He closes the distance. Wrap his arms around Kurosawa’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut, drawing him close.

Kurosawa lets out a shaky breath by Adachi’s ear. Arms winding around Adachi’s waist, holding him warm and tight. The fireworks have gone out and the night is cold, wind picking up around them. A promise exchanged, the biggest of Adachi's life, yet nowhere near enough.

_Please_. Unspoken, wordless, even in Kurosawa's mind. A plea pressed into Adachi's skin.

Kurosawa would have begged him. Stripped of all pride, falling to his knees just as easily as he knelt with _forever_ in mind. He would have begged.

Adachi isn't nervous, now. But he is afraid. The two aren't always one and the same.

“Kurosawa,” he says. He pulls back, but not far. Only far enough that he can look at him, stare straight into his eyes as Adachi never imagined he would be capable of, not like this, not with the question he's about to ask.

Kurosawa would have begged. And Adachi thought him fearless, once. So popular he need never fear rejection, so charming he need never fear loneliness, so warm and kind and teasing that there couldn’t be darkness underneath, no damning flaws, no weakness.

There is something much smaller at the heart of Kurosawa. Something so much more fragile, fallible, human. It’s terrifying.

"Kurosawa," he says. "Kiss me?"

Kurosawa's eyes flutter, and his throat bobs. One of his big hands comes up to cup Adachi's face. His skin is cold, his lips unsmiling, his eyes still fixed on Adachi's face.

Vulnerable. So vulnerable.

Kiss me, Adachi said. And Kurosawa does.


End file.
